Dangerously Close

“Ronald Billius Weasley, I swear to God,” I bellowed, chasing after him as he held a bra of mine in his hands and began running around the tent with it. Fred and George burst out laughing and wiggled their eyebrows. I scoffed and continued running after Ron, tackling him to the ground.

“I win,” I said, pinning him down with one arm and snatching my under-clothing garment from his hand.

“Blimey, Rose, you’re strong,” he complained, rubbing his shoulder where I was holding a strong grip on him a second ago.

“I try,” I said, walking to the bunk and tossing it into my trunk.

“How are you not embarrassed,” he asked, a bit of shock ringing in his voice.

“Unlike some people, it’s hard to make me humiliated, easy to piss me off. Plus, we all know that’s probably the first and last time you’re going to see a girl’s bra,” I teased.

Fred and George burst out laughing as Ron’s ears turned scarlet. I chuckled, acknowledging my own joke.

The fun was soon interrupted by Mr. Weasley who rushed in to the bunk. “Come on kids, don’t take so bloody long! We have to leave now, or we’re going to miss the game!”

I clapped my hands together in excitement and ran over to Ginny and Hermione, barging into their conversation by grabbing both of their hands and yanking them, causing them to let out surprised screams. They laughed a bit when they realized it was me dragging them out the tent.

I followed behind my brother and Arthur as we walked - more like ran - down the rows of tents until finally, a large white stadium came to view. Bright lights shone out of the center, where the anxious crowd was already visible as they cheered and excitedly hurried to their seats.

I gaped at it as we continued down the hill, working our way through the thousands and thousands of people.

“Bloody hell,” I murmured as we walked through the line and into the massive arena.

I couldn’t wait to be able to get into my seat and watch Bulgaria and Ireland compete in person in the World Cup - something so many wizards would kill to see. I found myself randomly letting out a squeal, causing some people to turn and look at me oddly.

Harry looked at me upon hearing my random burst of excitement and chuckled, patting my back. I smiled at him as we began towards the stairs, heading up.

To my surprise, as we climbed up to our seats, I never saw one familiar face amongst the buzzing Quidditch fans. I was expecting to see at least one person that I knew - whether it was from Hogwarts, someone that worked in the Daily Prophet, or anyone for that matter, but I never spotted anyone.

Fred and George seemed to be whirling with anxiety as we headed up. Their faces were covered in white face paint with a large, green four-leaf clover on it. They seemed to be skipping as they worked their way through, their mouths running constantly - from humming Irish tunes to just talking about the players.

“I feel like half of us are rooting for Ireland and the other half for Bulgaria,” Harry said.

“This great big family for once has been separated.”

We both laughed.

“Who are you rooting for, Mr. Weasley,” my brother asked.

“I support both teams - I’d be glad if either won. Both have great players with excellent Quidditch skills,” he explained.

I nodded. “But have you seen the Bulgarian players? I mean - bloody hell! I’ll be damned if Krum doesn’t catch the Snitch and win the game.”

“It’ll probably be a close match,” Ginny piped in.

Mr. Weasley nodded, agreeing with his daughter.

Ron groaned, causing all attention to turn to him.

“Blimey, dad, how far up are we,” he complained with a grumble.

“We’ll put it this way,” a voice said from under us. I didn’t have to turn around and face the man to know who had said it. The two pale blond heads in the corner of my eye were also enough to prove my suspicions. “If it rains, you’ll be the first to know.”

My face twisted with anger.

“And what could you possibly want, Malfoy,” I snapped, turning my head to meet the cold expressions facing me, my brother, Hermione, and the Weasleys.

“Nothing that matters to you, Potter,” Draco Malfoy spat.

“Let’s keep going up,” Ron mumbled, pulling on his father’s arm.

“Father and I are in the Minister’s box.” he bragged, continuing. “By personal invitation of Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, himself-”

The snake tip on Lucius’s wand met with Draco’s chest immediately, causing him to shut up. “Don’t boast, son. No need with these people.”

I scoffed and was about to turn around when I felt a cold metal press on my hand, holding me back.

“Do enjoy yourself, will you,” Lucius asked coldly to me and my brother. He smirked and walked off with his son, the devil’s spawn himself.

“Those bloody bastards, I’m going to kill them someday,” I murmured under my breath.

Harry looked at me with a smirk. “You mean I will.”

“Ah, save it, Harry,” I said, swatting his arm. “You know I hate that blasted Lucius Malfoy more than you ever will. And his son, God - I’d pitch him off the Astronomy tower if I could.”

A sudden burst of laughter escaped Harry as I finished talking.

I chuckled with him and continued behind Hermione and George as we reached a sudden stop. We continued down and found ourselves walking to our seats. The arena came into view, loud chants and cheers being heard from above and below us. I gaped at the view in awe as the group began to yell in excitement.

Before I knew it, the players swooped in from above our heads. I recognized it as the Irish team from their green and white uniforms and the mostly-ginger-haired players. They all formed a group in the middle of the sky and suddenly launched off in opposite directions, dropping fireworks. They exploded and collided, forming a leprechaun. The crowd began to go wild as the leprechaun did a traditional Irish dance and Irish music blasted into our ears.

The Irish introduction was then barged by a sudden swarm of players on brooms wearing red and black uniforms. I began to clap and cheer loudly along with the other Bulgarian fans as they began to dive around the arena. I watched as the broomsticks zoomed in mid-air. One player stood out amongst the rest as he began to do flips and tricks.

I began to clap and chant along with the crowd which were now yelling, “Krum!” repeatedly.

Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker. His hair was buzzed, a dark shade of chocolate brown. Through his uniform, his muscular build was outlined. His stubble was rather small but was still able to be seen. I could agree with the other girls saying he was attractive, because it was true.

He fist-pumped the air as the thousands of people screamed his name. He zoomed around the entire arena, a large image of him appearing on the top.

The two teams swooped down to the bottom of the pitch, and all attention was diverted to the seats in the middle of the arena, where the Minister of Magic’s voice spoke to all of us loud and clear as his wand was pointed at his neck.

“Good evening, wizards and witches! As the Minister of Magic, I welcome you all to the final of the 422nd Quidditch World Cup!”

We all began to clap and scream loudly, anxious for the game to begin.

“Rose, you’re going to see! Ireland is going to take home the gold,” George exclaimed through the loud noise.

I chuckled. “We’ll see about that!”

“Without further ado,” the Minister’s voice appeared again, speaking. All attention was now directed towards him anxiously, beaming smiles and sweaty palms in every single attendee.

“Let the match begin!”